Daedalus at Sunset
by donutsweeper
Summary: When things go wrong at the courthouse, Martin finds himself in the position to protect Trish. It's at a cost to himself, but one he doesn't mind paying.


The halls of the courthouse were pretty packed and it was all Martin could do to navigate them without spilling anything on anyone, especially himself. He might not be sporting a blazer - and he _did_ own one, thank you very much, Rog, he just didn't happen to know where it was at the moment - but he was wearing his best button-down. It wasn't ironed (Miranda would be so disappointed in him) but he'd hung it up the night before and gotten most of the wrinkles out that way so he thought it over all it came out all right.

"Martin?"

Besides, Rog looked professional enough for the both of them. It wasn't like the jury was going to listen to Rog being all perfect and respectable and then take one look at Martin and go 'well, based on what you said we were going to find the accused dirtbag guilty but your partner looks like a hobo so we're just going to let him go free.' Or would they? Maybe he should have tried harder to dress up? Nah.

"Martin!"

Abruptly pulled out of his musing, Martin turned to see who was calling his name. "Oh hey, Trish. What are you doing here?" Trish gave him one of her patented 'Really, Martin?' looks in reply, but luckily he was getting immune to those. "Work, huh? How's it going?"

"Quite well, if I do say so myself." She grinned at him, looking him over for a moment before giving him a little nod. Martin wasn't sure, but he thought she just gave him her seal of approval. Take that, Doctor Cahill! "Roger said he had to testify today, are you here with him?"

Martin held up the two, thankfully still unspilled, cups. "Caffeine run. Well, caffeine for me. Roger's getting, well, honestly I don't know what he's getting. Some kind of green matcha thing? He sent in the order on his app and I just picked it up when I got my own."

Looking down at the cups, Trish started laughing. "Is that a Mr. Yuk symbol on his cup?"

Holding back a grin, Martin schooled his face to look as serious as he could manage and nodded. "I added it myself. Have you ever tried this… stuff? I did by accident. Once. And that was one time too many. It was," he shuddered dramatically, "disgusting."

She laughed even harder at that. "It's an acquired taste."

Someone brushed past, forcing Martin to step closer to Trish. Were there always so many people in here? "And have you acquired it?" he asked. No, it wasn't the crowd that was bothering him; there was a tension in the air, an electricity that was putting him on edge.

"Well…"

"That wasn't a yes." He kept some of his attention on Trish and the conversation they were having, but he split his focus, looking about, trying to figure out what was settling off his cop radar.

"It wasn't a no either. Not really."

"So, if I offered this to you right now?" he held Rog's cup up, eyes moving over the crowd, observing and dismissing people one by one. Lawyer. Lawyer. Lawyer adjacent type, law clerk maybe? Witness. Family member. Social worker. Nothing. Clean. Normal. Delivery guy. Janitor. ADA. Corrections officer. Prisoner being transferred, shackled properly, resigned to his fate and not going to try anything. Lawyer.

"And disappoint my husband like that? Roger is waiting for his drink, I couldn't take it when I know he's looking forward to being able to drink this fine… beverage."

That's when he spotted it. The delivery guy. Too shifty. Skittery. Too focused. On what? Shit.

"Riggs, there you are. Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting-"

Martin blocked it all out. Roger coming down the hall behind him. Trish in front of him. The delivery guy twenty feet up the hall and to their right, reaching into his bag, his attention on the prisoner passing them on their left. Dropping the cups, Martin grabbed Trish, pulling her behind him as he stepped forward. He had to keep her safe. Get his body between her and the delivery guy who now had a gun in his hand. Ignore Trish's reaction to him manhandling her. Ignore Rog running up to them.

Focus on the delivery guy and how he was shouting, "You killed her, you son of a bitch! You think you can get away with that?" and be prepared for when he started shooting. Focus on how the man's stance was all wrong. How his hand shaking. This was a man who had never fired a gun before, which made him all the more dangerous. Time slowed, then slid to a standstill.

Martin drew his own weapon. It was a smooth motion, pushing Trish behind him while pulling out and raising the gun. "Police officer! Drop your weapon," he shouted, but the guy was already pulling the trigger and the phrase 'looking down the barrel of a gun' came instantly to mind because he already knew what the trajectory of a bullet fired from that gun would be and he relaxed, aiming carefully and returning fire with a quick double tap a split second after the burst of pain as the bullet

Slammed

Into

Him.

The burst of pain he expected, but he couldn't do anything about the kick of the bullet as it bowled him over and he crashed into someone _Trish, it was Trish, he protected Trish, he kept her safe_ before being thrown onto the ground. His head smacked against the floor. Time sped back up but he was separate from it. Disconnected.

"Martin!"

Screams. People running. Knees striking the floor by his head.

"Riggs!"

 _Miranda, I am so sorry._

A hand on his face. Fiery pain across his chest.

"Martin, you hold on. You hold on, you hear me?"

"Get an ambulance! We have an officer down! Officer down!"

 _I tried, sweetheart. I did. Don't be disappointed in me._

"Martin?"

"Stay with me, Riggs! Where the hell's that ambulance?"

 _"Join me."_

"Miranda?"

"Riggs? What did you say? Riggs? Riggs!"

 _Don't leave me, Miranda. Not again._

 _Please._

 _Not again._

The next thing Martin was aware of was the constant beeping of a machine. Someone was murmuring in Spanish, too soft for him to make out the words. The cadence seemed familiar though. A prayer? The beeping sped up.

"Martin?" A voice. Soft. Female. Older. Who?

Where was he? There was something in his throat. He tried to move. To get it out. His limbs weren't cooperating. Pain everywhere. The beeping was louder, shrieking.

"Martin, stop, you'll hurt yourself!" Not the same voice. This one was male. Wait a minute, he knew that voice. He knew both those voices.

"Martin." The woman again. "Shhhh, it's all right. You're in the hospital, but it's all right. You're all right."

Movement around him, he needed to focus, to figure out what was going on, but he couldn't. The pain. The beeping. It was all too much. "Relax, son. I know you're in pain and confused but the doctor's here, and he's going to give you something that will help you."

A hand wrapped around his.

The pain ebbed and went away.

He went away.

Slowly Martin came back to himself. He felt floaty. Tired. Achy. But his head was clearer and the tube was gone from his throat, leaving a raspy, raw feeling in its place. He recognized the medicinal smell, bandages, stiff sheets and machinery sounds for what they were. He was in the hospital. He might have imagined it, but was pretty sure Ronnie and Anna had been there earlier, as determined as always to still consider him family, but he only sensed one person in the room with him now.

With effort, he managed to get his eyes to open.

"Hey, partner."

Roger.

"You're in the hospital. I don't know how much you remember, but there was a shooting at the courthouse- shooter took exception at the fact the guy driving the car that killed his daughter was only found guilty of vehicular manslaughter with ordinary negligence with a max one year jail time and decided to punish the guy himself. They're still looking into how he got the weapon in, he shouldn't have been able to, but he did and you stopped him. You remember that?"

Delivery guy. Gun. Prisoner walking past. Right. Martin nodded.

"You took him out before he could get more than one shot off."

"Trish." Trish had been there. "Trish okay?" His voice cracked and it was barely over a croak, but Roger understood him anyway. Roger always seemed to understand him.

"She's fine. Just fine. She was here earlier. We've been taking turns, making sure someone was always with you now that you're out of the ICU and they've lessened the restrictions on your visitors." Roger leaned forward in his chair, raising an eyebrow at Martin. Here it comes, the secret was out. "In the ICU they only let family in, but, despite what I would have thought, that didn't mean you were all by yourself. The City Attorney, Riggs?"

So that had been them.

"Yeah," he drawled. He was going to say something, to try to explain that they were his family except for how they weren't, not any more, or maybe try to justify about needing to keep boundaries in the workplace and explain how letting people know that your boss' boss would do favors for you wasn't the ideal way of going about that, but when he took a deep breath he started coughing and couldn't stop. And holy hell coughing hurt and the pain wiped everything from his mind and he clutched at the blankets, trying to anchor himself in order to ride it out.

Roger was there, raising the bed and helping Martin wrap his arm across his diaphragm to ease the strain on the muscles. "Hurts like hell, doesn't it?" Roger offered softly. "Getting shot's not like open heart surgery, but in a way the result's the same. Damaged core muscles do _not_ like it when you make them respond to anything and coughing? That's asking for one hell of a response, isn't it."

Martin couldn't reply, the simple act of breathing needing all his attention, but Roger didn't seem to expect him too. Once the fit tapered off Roger stepped back and started fiddling with the water pitcher living on the little side table, which Martin the time and space he needed to collect himself.

"Here, this will help," Roger said, plunking a straw into the glass he'd just poured and offered it to Martin. "Small sips."

Martin obligingly drank as ordered to. The water was blessedly cool and it did help soothe some of the scratchiness in his throat. "Thanks." His voice sounded better, stronger, less broken.

"No, man, thank you. If you hadn't had been there…." Roger shuddered. "I owe you everything, man. Everything."

"No, no, Rog, no you don't. I didn't do anything special, I just did what anyone would've done in a situation like that."

"What? No! Are you kidding me? Are you even listening to yourself? Do _not_ sell yourself short like that, just don't!" Roger gesture wildly with the cup, spilling some water over the side.

"Woah, Rog, calm down. We don't want you having another heart attack or anything."

Roger huffed at him, practically visibly deflating, and threw himself into the chair. "Riggs, man, listen to me. You were the one who saw that something was going to go down and you were the one who did something about it. You. What you did. Before I even realized anything was wrong you got Trish out of the line of fire and had your gun drawn. Watching you, seeing that." Roger shook his head. "You took a bullet for her, Riggs. A bullet. And you kept her safe. You gotta let me be grateful for that."

Martin was about to shrug before he realized that might be a really bad idea. "I didn't even think about it, I just did what I had to do. I couldn't let anything happen to her, not if I could help it. I promised Trish once that I'd do my best to see that you always came home to her, but what good would that do if she weren't there to go home to? Everyone needs someone to go home to." He looked away, unable to meet Roger's eyes. Damn it, the stupid drugs he was on. Why did he say that? Trying to lighten the moment he quickly added, "I mean, you've got the kids, but that's not the same thing."

"No, it's not." The sat in silence for a moment before Roger said, "They're family though, same as you."

"Rog…."

"Riggs. Martin, listen to me." Roger leaned forward in his chair and stretched out his hand. He didn't try to grab Martin's hand or anything, thank god, because Martin already felt scraped apart and raw enough as is, but he laid palm over Martin's thigh. Just as a light pressure of contact, a bit of grounding; it felt good. "It's like we told you at Christmas, you're family. Like it or not, you're family and there's nothing you can do to change that."

"Nothing, huh?"

"Nope."

"You seem awfully sure about that." Martin leaned back, relaxing into the pillow. He'd been awake all of ten minutes and he was exhausted already.

"I am. Family's family. It is what it is, and there's nothing you can do about that. Although," Roger began, drawing out the word and Martin, knowing where this was going, groaned to himself. "Speaking of families—"

"You know, I am really tired. I think I'm going to get some shuteye."

"I should have realized something was up when you knew his name. You'd been on the job, what, all of a month and you still couldn't file your paperwork correctly but you knew the name of the City Attorney?"

Martin sighed and closed his eyes.

"They're your family, Riggs."

"They're Miranda's family. And she's dead." It was a statement of fact, nothing more but it still hurt to say it.

"She is. And I am sorry about that, but you aren't. You're still here and you are not alone. You got people here for you. The Delgados, me and Trish and the kids. Avery, Cahill, Cruz, Bailey and everyone else at the station. You're not alone." Roger's hand was warm on his leg. "You get some sleep if you need it. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you wake up."


End file.
